Chapter 3
"What action? Actually drag me to remarry?" Willa let out a humorless laugh. "Luke, we've been divorced for two years. You think the courthouse is your personal property?"
"I could, if I wanted".
Willa choked. That was such a Luke thing to say—arrogant, unreasonable, and inexplicably convincing.
"You called just to say that?" she asked.
Silence again on the other end. This time it stretched so long, Willa thought the call had dropped.
"Next Wednesday, seven o'clock," Luke suddenly said. "Blue Bay Restaurant. Meet me there."
"Why would I meet you?"
"Because you owe me an explanation."
"What do I even owe you?"
"That book from two years ago," Luke's voice dropped lower. "You insisted on publishing it, said it was fine. So what happened after that?"
Willa gripped her phone tightly. "What happened? The book never even got published, right? I quit, the project went down the drain. Isn't that enough?"
"No." Luke said. "I want to hear it from you. Why would you rather resign than tell me the truth?"
Willa felt her blood rushing to her head. "What truth? I told you the truth! That book was just an ordinary novel! You were being paranoid—"
"The author was investigated last month for business-related issues." Luke's voice was calm. "Her husband—my competitor—is suspected of stealing trade secrets. And in the manuscript of that book you championed, three scenes contained details that closely matched the specifics of a project we lost during that bidding process."
Willa's mouth fell open. No words came.
"Now," Luke said, his voice unreadable, "do you still think I was being paranoid?"
Luke hung up.
Willa sat there, stunned, as the photo album slid off her knees and hit the floor.
Outside, the night grew darker, and the city lights flickered on one by one. She hugged her knees, burying her face in them.
Turned out, she'd been wrong the whole time.
And he'd been waiting for an explanation.
She thought he'd never cared.
Wednesday came way too fast.
Willa was distracted all day. During the contract signing with the author that morning, she nearly wrote the wrong date. At the afternoon editorial meeting, when the chief asked about her marketing plan for the new book, her answers were completely off-topic.
"Are you okay?" The editor-in-chief asked after the meeting, looking concerned. "You look really worn out."
"I'm fine, just didn't sleep well," Willa said, forcing a smile.
"Then why don't you head home early today?" The editor-in-chief said, patting her on the shoulder. "You've done a great job with City Serendipity. Take it easy."
Willa left the office an hour early. She didn't go straight to Blue Bay Restaurant. Instead, she wandered aimlessly through the streets.
The early autumn wind carried a chill. She pulled her trench coat tighter. Passing a dessert shop, she saw tiramisu in the window—the only sweet Luke actually liked. On her first birthday after they married, she'd attempted to make it herself. The result was a collapsed mess. Luke had eaten it without changing his expression, then said, "Next time, just buy one."
But she'd noticed the cocoa powder smudged at the corner of his mouth. He'd never mentioned it.
"Miss, would you like a slice?" A shop assistant pushed open the door, smiling invitingly.
Willa shook her head and hurried off.
She shouldn't go to this meeting. What would she even say? "Sorry I was so stubborn back then"? Or "I know I was wrong, but I just couldn't admit defeat"?
Her phone buzzed. A message from Dawn: [Are you really going tonight? Want me to call with a fake emergency to get you out of there?]
Willa replied: [No need. Some things you just have to face.]
Staring at the message she'd just sent, she blinked. When had she become so... mature?
Before the divorce, her favorite thing to say was always, "I don't care, as long as I'm happy." Luke would just look at her with that mix of exasperation and maybe a hint of fondness.
Now, there was no one left to spoil her like that.
At 6:30 p.m., Willa stood outside Blue Bay Restaurant. It was a place they used to frequent—close to Luke's office, and quiet. She remembered he preferred the third table by the window because it had a view of the century-old building on the corner. He'd once mentioned the angle of its cornices was particularly unique.
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The waiter led her to the reserved table—indeed, the third one by the window. But Luke wasn't there.
"Mr. Landon just called and said he'll be twenty minutes late," the waiter said with a smile. "Would you like something to drink while you wait?"
"Just lemon water, please." Willa sat down and looked out the window.
The century-old building was still there, its cornices unchanged. She suddenly recalled a time they'd eaten here when she'd pointed at that building and said, "It looks like a giant bird about to take flight."
Luke was busy with his blueprints, not even looking up. "That's late Art Nouveau. The angle of the eaves was carefully calculated—not to look like a bird."